Mary Quant at the V&A: A Return to Swinging London

Mary Quant models ca 1968

In London last month, I visited the V&AT to see the Mary Quant exhibition, timed to celebrate her latest honour, a Lifetime Achievement Award from the first annual World Fashion Awards, which recognized her vivid imprint on an era when women's fashion turned around, almost overnight.

I coveted Quant’s clothes when I was in my twenties, and wore some of the knockoffs carried by American department stores.

I saw what I remembered: pungent reds and oranges, graphic prints (including her trademark daisy), tromp l'oeil neckties and collars, grommets and exposed zippers. Her name is synonymous with the miniskirt of Swinging London; after seeing the photos of those in Vogue, we picked up our scissors: short! shorter! Schools issued length edicts.

The set below is utterly Mary Quant: left, a floral mini, upper right, her signature wool jersey dress with attached tie and rear view of a jumpsuit; lower right, a vinyl coat, groundbreaking at the time.
Simple designs, bright colours: those of us who with even basic sewing skills could make some of these styles.

But surprise! This is Mary Quant, too:
From left to right: a restrained grey wool suit with knee-length skirt; a lemon yellow matelassé tunic and trousers; a fake-fur cheetah coat, and a ravishing evening grown with art deco motifs and appliquéed New York City skyscrapers (the gown is called "Manhattan").

Mary Quant hit the target pinned on the '60s, squarely in the centre of its kohl-lined bulls' eye. She was the epitome of freedom and fun, but the clothing did not compete with the wearer. When the V&A put out a call for clothing they might use in the show, they received over 800 submissions. Not many designers' pieces have been preserved with such ardour.

Those of us who sewed our Mary-ish little dresses learned to buy the right fabric. I left the museum wondering where, today, a woman can find those substantial cotton jersey and wool knits, heavy by today’s standards. Eileen Fisher offer some, but absent Quant’s insouciance and riotous relationship to colour.

You can still see her influence today, in a handful of brands that offer a glimpse of that joy and wit:

Left to right:
Victoria jacquard dress, which was in the window at Boden's Sloane Square shop, channels Quant and also her contemporary, textile designer Celia Birtwell.
White Stuff navy gridlock star jumper,  John Lewis.
Elsie pleated red dress; Temperley London.

I have seen a number of fashion exhibitions in the last five years; some are theatrically wild (Montana, Gaultier), some supremely elegant (James, Dior), others magnificent tours de force (St. Laurent, Balenciaga, Margiela) but none as happy as that of Mary Quant.

As I passed through Knightsbridge, the austere clothes in many boutique windows looked look like the party has passed them by—as if fashion had flown toward a more sombre world, from dolly bird to blackbird.